


Somewhat Less Than Perfect

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Mary Lives, Mary Ships It, Minor Mary Morstan/John Watson, Nice Mary Morstan, Oops, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Has a Plan, Sherlock Holmes & Mary Morstan Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Sherlock is a Good Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has the perfect proposal planned for Molly, with Mary’s help, except it doesn’t go <i>quite</i> as planned when Molly arrives at an inopportune moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhat Less Than Perfect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilsherlockian1975](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilsherlockian1975/gifts).



> So earlier this week I offered to write my friend **lilsherlockian1975** a fic to cheer her up after a rather insensitive commenter tried (and hilariously failed) to rile her up, and somehow the fic ended up in the prompts folder that I had put up for my acronym free-for-all grab. Fortunately my mom picked it out so she got it this week! Anyway, dear, I do hope you enjoy it and it brings a smile to your face!

There was…something…about Mary.

He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, to explain what his draw to her was. It wasn’t a romantic draw; God no, she was happy with John, deliriously happy, and now that he’d wised up and realized what had been staring him in the face for years he was quite content to be in a romantic relationship with Molly. So there was nothing in the relationship they had of a romantic nature. Neither of their significant others had to worry that one day the two of them would abscond with each other and leave them in the dust for warmer climes and far off places and daring deeds and adventure and all that.

But there was something about her that drew him like a magnet to a lodestone.

Perhaps it was her easygoing charm. Or her abundant cheerfulness. Her intelligence, perhaps. He was quite glad John had picked a mate a good deal smarter than him. Her resourcefulness was also a virtue. Her quick wit was also a plus. And there was the fact that she could keep up with him, physically _and_ mentally. Sharp as a whip. Quite funny, too. Nice mix of the sophisticated and the morbid sense of humor. And she was trustworthy and loyal. Excellent qualities in a person.

She was damn near perfect. 

In fact, if John hadn’t wooed her first, in all honesty, she might have managed to turn his head, even if all probably would have gone to hell. She’d have been _too_ perfect. He would have suspected there was something up, that she was playing him. He would have ruined it all. The fact she’d been keeping her life as a former assassin secret…well, he wouldn’t have considered it at the time and it could have put her in danger and he’d concede that, despite a few hiccups, mostly a gigantic one named Charles Augustus Magnussen, things had worked out for the best in the end playing out the way they had. She was happy, John was happy, and he’d gotten a good friend in the end.

And besides, he had gotten the woman who was perfect for _him_ in the end. While Mary had many fine qualities, she was still crafty and sly, still a bit on the calculating side. Still a bit too much like him, and he didn’t need that. He had really needed someone like Molly. He should have seen that years ago, should have done something about it the day he’d fallen off the roof. Or when he’d come back. Or after the wedding. But no, he’d been a coward. At the risk of breaking his own heart, he’d remained quiet, kept her at arm’s length, thinking it was best that way.

But then there’d been an accident. She’d taken a cab home from Barts one evening and the driver had been in his cups and ran a light and she’d been hit. Her injuries were rather severe, and she’d been in the hospital for weeks. They were rather lucky she was able to walk afterward, to be quite frank. He’d have thought he needed to keep her safe from the Moriartys and the Magnussens in the world, but something as simple as a car accident could have taken her away. he’d had his brother bully the nursing staff once she was allowed visitors and he stayed by her bedside as often as he could while she was in the induced coma, not leaving her side. And when she woke up, when they were sure she was all right, that there’d been no memory loss, he’d told her everything about how he felt. He made sure he knew _exactly_ how he felt. And he vowed to be there however she wanted him to be, friend or more, to help her through.

She chose more, and he’d never been gladder of anything in his life.

And now it was almost two years later. It had been a long, slow road, but it was a satisfying one. And it seemed right to him that he make another turn on this journey, hit another milestone. He just wanted to make sure it was perfect. And for that, he needed his friends help. He’d asked John to distract Molly while he had Mary at the flat. They both knew what he was planning, and they’d been eager. Two years was long enough to date to reasonably think Molly would say yes to marrying him, they’d said. He was glad they agreed with him on that point.

“All right, so the meal is done,” Mary said, wiping her hands on the apron. Sherlock had taken the artichoke gratin to the table as Mary came over to study it. She moved the bowl of garlic kale away from the center over to the side.

“It was better over there,” Sherlock said with a frown, moving it back.

“A tenner says she doesn’t even notice,” Mary said with a smirk.

Sherlock shook his head. He and Mary made bets constantly, or at least she tried to. Only half the time he took her up on them. Usually he was fairly good at gauging when it was a worthwhile bet or not. Mary had the heart of a gambler, he knew it. But she had to get her kicks somewhere, with a little one at home and another one on the way, her life was rather domesticated these days. He knew both she and John liked to add a little spice where they could. “That’s a bet that’s only worth a quid.”

“I suppose.” Then she looked at him, a twinkle in her eye. “Twenty quid that the whole thing goes awry.”

“Are you trying to jinx me?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You, Sherlock, never have good luck when you try to make elaborate plans,” she said, watching him go around the table, inspecting the other dishes. There was swordfish _alla siciliana_ , lemon potato soup with feta and a loaf of the herbed garlic parmesan bread Molly liked from the bakery down the street, baked fresh. He’d planned on there being a bit of all her favorites on the table, plus French silk pie in the refrigerator for dessert. He wanted it to be absolutely perfect. She lifted up her hand and held up a finger. “There was the production of The Magic Flute—”

“No one expected the lead soprano to get food poisoning from the sushi she’d had the night before,” he said, going for the lighter he carried in his pocket, a reminder of a bad habit he’d stopped that he kept to quell his need to fiddle with things.

“And then there was the trip you were planning to take to New York to join her while she delivered her lecture at NYU,” she said. “Only you would get on a plane with a belligerent drunk who tries to storm the cockpit.”

“That was unfortunate,” he said, moving to light the candles on the table.

“And what about the romantic weekend holiday to Devon?” she asked.

“It is not my fault we got double booked with the couple who was going there to fix their marriage,” he said, his eyes flicking up to look at her. “And remember, the travel agent gave us a refund and I was able to put the money towards the week in Ireland.”

“Where it rained the entire time and the event you were there to attend was cancelled,” Mary said with a smirk, crossing her arms. “Face it, Sherlock. You have a horrible track record with grand romantic gestures.”

He straightened up and then looked at her. “Very well. Twenty quid says this goes just fine.”

She nodded. “All right then.”

He finished lighting the candles. “All right then.” Once he was done he went over to Mary and moved her towards one of the chairs at the table. He pulled it out and turned it around to face him, and then eased her into it. “So I have the actual proposal worked out.”

Mary nodded. “Eloquent yet heartfelt?”

“And yet still me,” he said with a nod.

“Good.” She held her hand out. “Ring?” Sherlock dug into his pocket and pulled out the ring box, handing it to Mary. Mary opened it and looked inside. The ring had belonged to his grandmother, a woman he only had vague memories of. It was a white gold ring, with a medium sized diamond in the center and two smaller sized amethysts next to it. There was braiding on the side of the amethysts down a bit before the band was solid again. According to his mother, his grandmother had been a bit on the strange side, liked unusual things, but she had thought Molly might appreciate this piece of jewelry and he’d had to agree with her. “Oh, I think she’ll love that.”

“I hope so,” he said.

Mary handed him the ring back and then straightened up. “All right, then. Run the proposal by me. And on bended knee, too. I want the whole thing.”

Sherlock nodded and sank down on one knee. “I love you,” he said. “It took me a long time to see what should have been quite plain in front of my face, that there was a wonderful and loving and kind woman in front of me who I should have loved and worshipped sooner, but I want to spend the rest of my days doing that, and I hope you’ll do me the honor of allowing me to do that as your husband.”

“Oh my.”

Sherlock and Mary’s head snapped to the side as they heard Molly speak. She stared at the engagement ring, the candlelight dinner, and Mary sitting where Sherlock had hoped Molly would be, in the chair in front of where he was knelt on bended knee. He glared at John and then turned his glare at Mary when she let out a hearty laugh. "Thank you, John. You've now cost me twenty quid," he said with a sigh, snapping the lid on the engagement ring. Then he shook his head. "I should have learned by now to stop making bets with your wife."

“Sorry mate,” John said sheepishly. “But Molly said she was starting to get tired and she was hurting, and I didn’t have the heart to keep her out anymore.”

The irritation melted off Sherlock’s face as he nodded. “I understand. Thank you for at least allowing me to set up part of all of this.”

Molly leaned on her cane and made her way to the table and to Sherlock. “You really went all out to make it special,” she said with a smile.

“Well, Mary cooked,” he said. “Though I helped.”

“I know you can cook but I didn’t think you could make swordfish _alla siciliana_ ,” she said with a laugh. She leaned her cane against the table and then put both hands on his chest. “That was a lovely proposal, even if you didn’t _technically_ say it to me.”

“I could say it to you, if you’d like,” he said, moving his hands to her waist.

“It’s all right,” she said. “But you could actually ask me the question, so I can give you a proper answer.”

“Will you marry me, Molly Hooper?” he asked, looking down at her with a grin on his face.

“Of course I will, Sherlock,” she said, her smile growing even wider than it had been before. Sherlock pulled the hand holding the ring box away from her waist and opened it, pulling her left hand away and slipping the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, just like he’d hoped. “That’s such a lovely ring.”

“I’d hoped you’d like it,” he said. Mary poked him in the side a moment later and he scowled slightly as he turned to look at her. “Yes?”

“You know, I don’t mind forgetting the bet, just this once,” she said with a grin. “Looks like the proposal turned out all right after all.”

His scowl softened as he turned back to Molly, reaching up to caress her cheek. “I suppose it did after all,” he murmured before kissing his brand new fiancée. Yes, it hadn’t gone _quite_ according to plan, but in the end she had said yes and as that had been the point of it all he was willing to declare it a rousing success.


End file.
